


The Show

by sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Dinner, F/M, Happy Ending, Kissing, Los Angeles, Mutual Pining, Paparazzi, Ward will get punched eventually, actress Jemma Simmons, background Huntingbird - Freeform, talk show host Leo Fitz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Jemma plays a vampire on television, Fitz hosts the up and coming variety show Later Tonight with Fitz. They both have crushes on each other, but in the whirl of Hollywood, they haven't had a chance to meet yet. That changes when Jemma is booked for an interview. A date follows, but so do the pressures of being famous. Can the stars align over Los Angles for two people who are both still finding out that they might be worth loving? Based on a tumblr gif set by @ughfitz. Beta'd by Gort.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 67
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ughfitz (wokemeup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokemeup/gifts).



Jemma poked her tongue at the vampire fang glued over her real tooth. It felt solidly in place. As long as she didn’t eat anything during her break from filming, it’d be fine for when she was due back on set. Bathrobe over her costume, she checked the time on her mobile as she trotted to her trailer, smiling when she realized she still had five minutes before her favorite show started.

Night blanketed the small California desert town where they were shooting season two of _Midnight Hollywood_. The moonless sky spread wide overhead, the stars twinkling brightly against the inky blackness of space. It made for a thrilling backdrop to the scenes being shown, but it also meant a lot of long nights. Next time she was picking a show set in an office building.

The steps clanged as she rushed up them and into the trailer. The TV was on, showing the late news out of Los Angeles, and Daisy was already lounging on a couch. She had her detective costume on, and her hair looked artfully windblown in the way only a lot of hairspray could achieve.

Bobbi, Jemma’s manager, appeared from the back with a protein shake in hand. “Here, eat.” She shoved it at Jemma.

“Turn the sound up,” Jemma said, plunking beside Daisy. She knew it made her a bit of ninny to be so invested in a nighttime comedy show, but she didn’t care one iota what anyone thought about it. She was the lead actress on a breakout cable TV show with stellar first season ratings. Wanting to time her breaks to watch TV on weeknights was far from the biggest kind of diva tantrum she knew of. Jemma wore the fangs, she made sultry eyes at her costar to sell the slow burn romance between vampire and ghost-hunter, and she worked insane hours while calling a chalky tasting shake dinner.

She got to have this one thing.

“Did Ward do something dumb again?” Daisy asked, nudging Jemma’s shoulder with her own. “You’re glaring.”

“What? No. Well, no more than usual.” Her costar probably had the kind of diva demands that made other people batty. Like wanting only sparkling water imported from France or throwing a fit if he didn’t get a bowl of green M&Ms after shooting. The arse didn’t even have to wear fangs.

Daisy groaned. “He tried to give me acting tips after our first scene tonight. It took fifteen takes before he, not the director, was satisfied with my fifty-yard stare as we learned about the murder of a young woman.”

Jemma groaned. “More steel in your gaze. Sell it,” she said, mimicking Ward’s broad American accent.

Daisy stuck her tongue out and laughed.

“It’s starting,” Bobbi said, gesturing at the screen.

Jemma tried to stifle the rather improper high-pitched noise she made as the opening music of her favorite show played but was completely thwarted by the pure joy that bloomed in her chest. There were jazzy horns, drums, and a slightly off-key bagpipe note she’d come to adore.

 _Later Tonight with Fitz_ flashed on the screen and she bounced in her seat, sipping on the less than stellar nutritional shake Bobbi always insisted on while filming.

“I’ve watched this with you twice now,” Daisy said. “And I still don’t get why you like this show so much.”

“Fitz is cute,” Bobbi said, shrugging a shoulder.

“He’s handsome, and bloody brilliant,” Jemma said, setting her empty carton down with a thump. “He has a doctorate from Oxford, wrote a game-changing dissertation in chemical engineering, and always has smart people on as guests to discuss serious issues alongside the fluff celebrity interviews.”

Daisy snorted. “I hate to tell you this, but we’re fluff, Simmons.”

“Oh, I know.” Jemma waved a hand. “And he has real stars on, movie stars.” She was just a fan favorite on a nine-p.m. show that catered to people who were sad _Supernatural_ had ended. Not the same as having your name up in lights on Hollywood Boulevard. She sighed wistfully as the announcement for his guests popped up on the screen. Amanda Seyfried, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and some musical guest Jemma had never heard of but who probably had a top ten hit at the moment.

The opening sequence changed to the studio audience, who hollered and clapped as the camera swung around. Fitz was sitting on the edge of his desk, smiling widely, his scruff perfect as always. This year he’d let it stray more towards beard territory and Jemma heartily approved of the choice. His facial hair had its own Twitter account that she avidly followed.

She propped her chin on her hand and sighed as he bantered with his band director before taking a seat behind the desk and launching into a segment on weekly scientific news, mostly pointing out the humorous parts, but it was one of Jemma’s favorite segments because it sneakily provided sound information while making people believe they were simply being entertained.

Daisy poked Jemma’s shoulder. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“What?” Jemma batted at Daisy’s hand without taking her eyes off the screen.

“I was asking about how you got into this show? Don’t most people watch the one on the other channel? With Nathaniel?”

Jemma groaned, which made Bobbi laugh.

“I need to remind you,” Bobbi said as she poked at her mobile. “That you did receive an offer to be on _Up Late with Nate_.”

Daisy goggled. “Whoa, way to go, Jemma.”

“No,” Jemma said. She’d was so not going to be on that rubbish heap of a show. Nathaniel was a creep. While she could do with the publicity, she could do without his notoriously wandering hands. Or the show’s joking attempts at getting up-skirt shots of their guests.

She kept her eyes on the screen, tamping down her jealousy as she watched Fitz with his bright eyes and wide smile press a very tiny and polite kiss to Amanda Seyfried’s cheek before settling in to interview her. It was his signature greeting, and Jemma hated it with a singular passion. What had Amanda and her absurdly huge eyes been in lately, anyway? It wasn’t fair she was getting the full force of in-person Fitz directed at her. Amanda probably didn’t even properly appreciate the way his nose had that little divot at the end that looked perfect for kissing.

Amanda said something inane and Fitz laughed loudly. Jemma made a disgusted noise.

Bobbi snorted. “Seriously, the best part of _Later Tonight with Fitz_ is watching Jemma watch it.”

“Why don’t you just call him? You’re famous now.” Daisy sat back, stretching out her legs.

“I’m not that kind of famous.” Jemma pointed at the movie star on the screen. “And what am I going to say? Hey, you’re super cute, can I be on your show and then marry you and live happily ever after?” Oops, that might have been a bit too much information. Did Fitz like renovated cottages in Perthshire?

Daisy rolled her eyes. Bobbi stopped typing on her mobile. She squinted at the screen, then disappeared into the back of the trailer as she lifted the phone to her ear.

“You’re hot stuff right now.” Daisy patted Jemma’s knee. “You could totally be on the show, and maybe don’t lead with a marriage proposal, but you’re plenty attractive. He might be down to bump uglies with you. And then you can introduce me to his band director. Trip is…wow.”

Jemma ignored the last bit, though Trip was a cutie. “Bump uglies? Are you five?”

“Jemma and Fitz, sitting in a tree,” Daisy sing-songed. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes—”

“That’s quite enough of that.” Jemma refused to think about what an adorable father Fitz would be. Her ovaries were already quite enthralled with the man as it was.

“Maybe he’s a real ass off-screen,” Daisy said after a minute. The guest had changed to Tyson, but Fitz had started with a softball question about Pluto and their banter was a touch juvenile.

She wanted to banter with Fitz.

Jemma made a non-committal noise at Daisy.

“What if he chews with his mouth open? Or snores loudly? Oh my god, Jems, what if he doesn’t put the cap back on the toothpaste after he uses it?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. That was a step too far. “I am certain he would put the cap back on.” Really, what a rude thing to insinuate. “And frankly, I don’t even know if he’s straight, or allosexual. I hate when people make assumptions about my sexuality, and he’s never been romantically linked to anyone.” Jemma had extensively googled to be sure.

“What I’m hearing here is that you’re super crushing on a totally unobtainable guy.”

“That’s about it.”

“That sounds very safe.” Daisy’s knee jiggled. “And I get that. I do.” Daisy’s dating history hadn’t exactly been a series of wins. “I need to find my own Fitz.”

“I spend an hour a day with him, five days a week.” Jemma shrugged a shoulder. “It’s working out well for us.” There was also her early morning alone time with her fantasies, but that was maybe another hour, tops. Fantasy-Fitz knew how to get the job done.

Fitz introduced the musical guest, and Jemma leaned back in her chair, tuning out the pop hit the band played. She vaguely recognized the song, but she was always too busy filming or promoting _Midnight Hollywood_ to do things like pay attention to the latest music trends. Bobbi hired people to keep Jemma in the latest fashions, and she listened to best-selling books during her daily cardio. That way she always had something to make small talk about at the endless rounds of studio cocktail parties she was required to attend.

She was lucky, she told herself. A minor BBC actor ending up the lead in a popular show across the pond was a big jump. An exhausting jump. But she was doing it, and that meant something. It proved that her last-minute decision to dual major in theater and biology hadn’t been pointless, no matter what her mother said. It’d been a complete lark to take the drama class with her college roommate. A fun lark, that’d led to one role, then another, and then another.

Now she was a vampire.

Bobbi returned from the back of the trailer. “Jemma—”

“Wait,” Jemma said. “It’s almost over.” Bobbi crossed her arms and sighed.

Sitting up, Jemma leaned towards the screen. This was one of her favorite parts, when the camera pushed in close to Fitz and she could see all the nice things the lighting in the studio did for his eyes. She licked her lips.

“Thank you so much for spending a bit of time with us,” Fitz said on screen. “I hope you enjoyed and if you accidently learned something, even better. That’s it for this hour of _Later Tonight with Fitz_ , we’ll see you Monday!”

The band struck up the closing riff, and Jemma turned the telly off. “Yes?” she asked Bobbi.

“So, I just got off the phone with one Lance Hunter.” Bobbi’s mouth quirked to the side. “He sounded very…charming?” She looked a little confused, which made Jemma’s brow raise. That was different. Nobody impressed Bobbi.

“Who’s Lance Hunter?”

Bobbi pursed her lips, then grinned widely. “He works for _Later Tonight with Fitz_. They want you on the show.”

Jemma blinked. “Are you taking the piss?” If so, it wasn’t funny.

“I told him I’d call back tomorrow since you’re due back on set shortly. And I’m using the _Up Late with Nate_ offer to make sure you’re headlining. So consider what offer to accept.”

As if that was even a question.

“Oh,” Jemma said, sliding off her chair to the floor. “Oh my god. I…I…”

Daisy squealed. “Jemma! This is so exciting!”

She couldn’t even think. Meeting Fitz? She needed to…to…get another doctorate? How could she possibly impress him?

“Up,” Bobbi said, offering a hand to Jemma. “You have to go kiss a frog first.”

“More a toad.” Daisy made a face.

Oh, right. Making out with Ward. That was a bucket of cold water. She took Bobbi’s hand and let herself be pulled upright. Jemma would do what she always did, and pretend it was Fitz she was kissing. It made the results so much more believable.

Fitz, who she’d be meeting in person. She would touch his hand. He would kiss her cheek.

Her knees threatened to give way.

Jemma slapped a hand over her mouth as an elated scream made its way out. She would have to get that under control, so she didn’t swoon from the brush of his fingers. That’d be embarrassing.


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz drummed the end of his pen against the script he was annotating for tomorrow’s show. Somebody should have told him that being on the telly was so much blasted work. His doctorate had been a cakewalk in comparison.

His gaze strayed back towards the video playing on his laptop.

He’d seen the clip at least a hundred times, but it never got old. The movie was forgettable, but the cameo was anything but. Jemma Simmons, looking very fresh-faced, pranced across the screen. She had a tank top on, and no bra.

Fitz sighed and propped his chin on his hand. He was such a ninny. She had one line in this movie and the character didn’t even have a name. The video switched to showing the scenes from a short-lived BBC comedy that she’d had a small roll on. Her hair was wretched, but she got to smile a bunch and that was nice.

He really should be working, not indulging himself. When he’d ended up in Hollywood a few years ago—really, he still didn’t understand it, one night you’re joking around with mates on a campus radio show and the next you’re on a stage with a microphone in your hand—he’d wanted to meet his celebrity crush. It turned out Hollywood was big. He’d given up on things like dreams to focus on the day to day work that his show needed from him.

Daft crush hadn’t gone away, though.

It’d kind of gotten worse.

At least nobody knew about all the _Midnight Hollywood_ fanfic tabs he had open on his phone. The speculation online about what would happen between the two main characters in the season currently being filmed was wild. He ate it all up. Though in his daydreams, Miss Simmons’ vampiress was much more into lean, nerdy Scottish TV hosts than tall, dark, and handsome Americans.

Bloody fat chance of that.

There were voices in the hallway, and Fitz reached to click off the video, but Hunter burst into the office before Fitz had done more than grab his mouse. Predictably, Hunter’s eyes rolled.

“Not that again,” he scoffed as Fitz paused the video and hid the window behind a picture of a cute monkey he kept open for just that reason. “I guess I should be glad you’re not tossing off to it.”

Fitz gave Hunter a withering glare. “I’m working,” Fitz said. “It helps me relax.”

“So would wanking.”

“Don’t you have celebrities to book?” Fitz grumbled. Hunter leaned against the wall of the small, windowless office. He was scruffy, more so than usual, and wearing a rumpled white dress shirt and black trousers, his usual uniform. The untied ends of a black bow tie dangled down from either side of the shirt’s collar. It made Hunter look like he might have just come in from a sordid after-hours rendezvous. Only it was ten in the morning, and Fitz knew Hunter got up before the sun to jog. As the point contact person for _Later Tonight with Fitz_ , the outfit must do something for the people Hunter was always cajoling into being on the show.

“I do,” Hunter said. Fitz did not like the smug little smile playing over Hunter’s lips. “I thought you might want to hear this one.”

“This isn’t another musician, is it? I know I’m the last sap on earth who doesn’t listen to Taylor Swift and therefore completely bullocksed up how excited I was supposed to be over that.” Fitz raked a hand through his hair. It was a coup, and hopefully, her fans would make his rating jump like crazy that night.

One day. He needed one damn day with ratings higher than Nathaniel. Just to prove he could do it. And to get the promised injection of cash into the show’s budget that it so badly needed.

Hunter shook his head, but his smile widened. “It’s someone last minute to headline before Taylor.”

“Uh…who?”

Hunter’s mobile rang and he held a finger up to quiet Fitz before answering and putting the call on speaker.

“You’ve reached Hunter.”

Fitz frowned at the phone as something close to a breathy sigh came from the speaker. Whoever this was, their taste is men was questionable. “It’s Barbara,” the woman said.

“Bobbi, hi, hello, good to hear from you. Did you get the contract I faxed over?”

“I’m holding it.”

Fitz shrugged at Hunter. Besides Barbara Walters, Fitz couldn’t think of any famous Barbaras, certainly not ones that went by Bobbi.

“Does it work for you and your client?” Hunter had managed to replace his glee with something closer to his usual level of smooth charm, but his posture had changed as well, becoming even slouchier and more loose-limbed. He fairly smoldered in the direction of the mobile that sat on Fitz’s desk.

At least Barbara wasn’t someone Fitz was supposed to know. That was a relief. Maybe he could do a jokey bit about never being able to keep up with the endlessly updating list of hot new faces in Hollywood, though that would probably come off as him whining about his good fortune. Viewers did not want to know about his troubles. Otherwise, they’d be getting an ode to the ongoing wasp problem of his canyon house, but really, if he stood on his tiptoes, he could see a road that lead to the ocean. He should be grateful.

Bobbi’s voice sounded resigned. “I’m going to hand the phone over now so you can get verbal confirmation from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“Is everything alright?” Hunter pushed himself up straighter. “I can do—”

“It’s fine,” Bobbi made a muffled shushing noise that didn’t seem to be directed at Hunter. “I just have a very excited actress here. She’s been like an eager puppy since last night.”

“Have not,” said a voice with a British accent. Fitz’s stomach did something funny.

Oh no.

Not now.

He needed better ratings, a finer set. The damn light in the women’s loo went out sometimes.

“Have too, okay, here’s Jemma.”

Jemma Simmons was on the other end of the phone line. Fitz went perfectly still. His heart might have even ceased to beat.

“Hello, Doctor Jemma Simmons,” Hunter said in his most professional tone. “Bobbi has the contract, but I need confirmation from you for this Thursday’s show. Thank you so much for doing this last minute.” Hunter’s gaze fixed on Fitz. “I do need you to say yes, luv.”

“Yes!” Jemma exclaimed, breathless and husky. Fitz’s blood rushed south. Drat. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Thank you,” Hunter said. He winked at Fitz.

“Did Bobbi tell you _Up Late with Nate_ had already made an offer?” Jemma said in a rush. Fitz stifled a groan. Here came the hardball. He hated this damn part when a guest said yes, then started asking for things because Nathaniel or someone else had already promised it and shouldn’t Fitz’s show do the same?

“She did,” Hunter drawled. He did not look near worried enough. Jemma was a rising star, she’d want things.

Perhaps she’d take a sex slave? He’d gladly volunteer. Or maybe a fruit basket?

“I am so glad you called Bobbi and I don’t have to deal with that arse,” Jemma said.

Oh, she was defiantly getting a fruit basket now. One with pineapple shaped like stars. Fitz scribbled that on a post-it and held it up for Hunter to see. It earned Fitz an eye roll from Hunter, but he took the note anyway.

“I am so thrilled,” Jemma gushed. “ _Later Tonight with Fitz_ is my favorite show. I watch it every night. Is there anything I should know? Rules? Like no handshakes that aren’t on camera?”

Fitz couldn’t parse out any of that. Jemma Simmons watched his show? It was her favorite?

“No worries,” Hunter said. “Nothing like that. I think Fitz and you will get along splendidly. I’ll send over more information once we have your signed contract.”

“Thank you!” She made a noise very close to a squeal. “I can’t wait.”

“Thank you, Miss Simmons, can I please talk to Bobbi again?” Hunter picked up his mobile and switched the speaker off. Then he had to gall to simply walk out of Fitz’s office and close the door behind himself.

Fitz tossed his pen down and rushed the few steps to the door to click the lock in place. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly force the sticky bolt home.

He put his back to the door and sank until his rear reached the thin carpet on the floor.

His schedule said he needed to get back up, walk over, and finish the script sitting on the desk. But his schedule hadn’t accounted for him hearing straight from the woman herself that _Later Tonight with Fitz_ was her favorite show.

He’d been going out there and hamming it up for the camera not knowing that the most brilliant woman—also the hottest, if anyone asked him—had been watching him. Silly little him, with his too rough accent and lack of being at least six feet tall.

His chest tightened.

Jemma knew who he was.

That hadn’t been something he ever expected. He was a working-class lad from Glasgow.

A key turned in the lock and Fitz found himself tipping over backward as the door opened.

Mack looked down at him. “Hunter said to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but Mack could help with something. He was the glue that held the show together. “Can you get maintenance to fix the light in the women’s loo? It blinks on and off.”

Mack reached down and hauled Fitz to his feet. “Sure, as soon as you tell me why my star is laying on the floor when there’s a script to finalize. Trip’s waiting on his pages.”

“Hunter didn’t tell you what’s happening?” Fitz put his hands on his hips. He tried not to do that on camera, not after a series of very unflattering memes had made the rounds on social media, but it was an ingrained habit.

“No.”

“Last minute addition to the lineup Thursday. One Dr. Jemma Anne Simmons.”

Mack snorted. “That does explain the floor, but as much as I’d like to see you dance around as giddy as a schoolgirl, I need the script. Let’s get it finished up and handed off to the runners. Piper and Davis are breathing down my neck.”

Fitz shook his head, but still thudded back down into his seat. He pointed at the chair across from him. “Let me run this bit about climate change past you. I think it’s funny, it might be funny, maybe?”

Mack picked up that page Fitz had been working on, and after a moment he chuckled. “It’s funny, Turbo. You’ve got it. I like how it rolls right into the bit about Puffins. I’ll text Elena and have her start looking for stock pictures of Puffins.”

Bless Elena and her photo editing skills.

Fitz rubbed at his eyes. This script, the next one, and then he needed to figure out what to ask Jemma. Hopefully, her manager would send over a list of studioequested questions. There were always softballs about an actor’s current work. He didn’t mind being told what to ask, it was less he had to come up with on his own.

Maybe he could fit in something about chapter twelve of Jemma’s dissertation into her interview? The paragraphs on dielectric polarization—

Mack’s fingers snapped in front of his face, making Fitz jump. “I’m working,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes to focus on the neatly typed words marching across the pages.

“Sure. If by working you mean zoning out while imagining Jemma’s boobs.”

“It was her brain.” Though _now_ he was thinking about her boobs.

Was it Thursday yet?

#

Check out this AMAZING fanart by @antoine-triplett! 


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma sat very primly on the edge of the greenroom’s chair. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. In mere minutes she would be out on stage, waving at the audience and meeting Fitz.

Scheduling complications meant that she’d arrived at the studio in Burbank with barely enough time for hair and makeup, and meeting Fitz prior to being on camera had been impossible. Hunter had apologized, mostly in the direction of Bobbi’s chest, and then Jemma had been in the chair getting a lipstick touchup before being left to wait.

She hadn’t been this nervous since…well, ever. Even her first role in a play that maybe three bored students had attended hadn’t made her palms sweat like this. She frowned down at her black stocking-clad knees. Her dress was also black, a nod to her _Midnight Hollywood_ character. It showed off more cleavage than Jemma had been hoping to, but her stylist had insisted that she wear both the dress and the sky-high heels.

Daisy had laughed when Jemma had teetered out of her trailer that morning. It was well deserved, Jemma felt like she was playing dress-up with someone else’s clothes. Fitz would take one look at her and think her a ninny. Who would wear shoes they could barely walk in? Though she did like the black velvet outers and the bow at the heel was a nice touch. It matched the bow holding her hair back off her face.

Jemma sighed. She unrolled the paper in her hand to study the questions she’d be asked, time allowing. They were fairly straightforward, and most of them had been required by the studio, including ones asking if she could give a hint at the plot of season 2—she couldn’t, but she’d make knowing eyes at the camera—and what it was like to kiss her costar.

Jolly lot of fun that would be to answer. Her carefully prepared words would be a lie since the real answer was that Jemma had to think about the man asking her the question instead of Ward, at least if she wanted to sell the idea that she was in love with Ward’s character.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t blurt that out to Fitz. Her biggest goal was not to appear daft. This could be the one and only time she met him in person. Jemma did not want his impression of her to be that she was a tongue-tied dumpster fire. That sounded like a death sentence. Or a blessing. Maybe his adorable nerdiness was all an act and he was a dumb as a box of rocks.

Or maybe not. 

Jemma's eyes darted to the screen in the room, which showed the live taping. Fitz was laughing with Trip.

She closed her eyes and imagined the next few moments, including the moment she’d step on stage and Fitz would lean in to buss her cheek with a quick peck.

Part of her wanted to turn her head and meet his lips. And then they’d make out on his desk and confuse the audience. The front of her dress tightened and she had to work to suck in a deep breath.

Rubbish idea that was, but she could use those few seconds, when they’d be close and her mouth would be hidden from the cameras, to her advantage. She could say one thing. Indicate interest, or make him smile.

Jemma winced. Perfect, tell him a joke. _Knock, knock, who’s there…Jemma and an unreasonable amount of lust._

She hoped he smelled like liver and onions. It might calm her nerves. Or make her crave liver and onions for dinner.

Dinner! That was a reasonable request. She could ask him out. He could say no, or yes, and it didn’t mean it’d be a date. They could chat about where they imported tea from, or food they missed, or the weather, and then it’d be simply a friendly conversation with someone from home.

Or a date. Maybe she’d get to lick him. All of him.

She had to stop this sort of thinking. She was a professional.

Her tongue was not interested in professionalism.

A knock on the green room door had her bolting to her feet. Hunter peered in. His bowtie, which had been hanging loose earlier, was now properly tied around this neck. When had he found time to do that?

“Alright, luv,” he said, paused to mumble something into his headset, then held out a hand to usher Jemma out the door and towards the stage. She focused on not falling as she walked down the hall, drawing in deep breaths, standing up straight, and not passing out.

The curtains gave way. Hunter halted, but he indicated she should keep going. Jemma plastered on her brightest grin as she walked onto a set she’d only seen through the telly before. It was bigger than she’d thought, and the distance she had to walk looked a mile. Jemma waved at a crowd, who cheered loudly, probably because there was a sign that told them to.

She turned her head towards the desk and chairs.

Bloody Hell.

That was Fitz, sitting behind his desk, grinning widely at her. She could see his dimple. Abruptly all the distance was gone and he was rising and leaning over the desk towards her. Oh no, this wasn’t fair. He was cute on her screen, in person he was…perfect. Sparkling blue eyes that made her think of tropical waters she’d like to get lost in, his beard looked very touchable, and it framed that generous mouth in a way the camera didn’t quite capture.

He did not smell like liver and onions. More like spicy cologne with a hint of Earl Grey.

One chance.

She had one, single chance.

She tilted her head, barely able to hear herself think over the pounding of her heart and the nervous fluttering of her stomach. “Hi,” she whispered in his ear. “I know this is bloody awful timing, but would you like to go to dinner with me?”

Fitz’s lips met her cheek. Lingered. He never did that. Not once. Jemma nearly moaned at the soft press of his warm mouth.

Then he pulled back and met her gaze. He nodded ever so slightly, and her for-show smile stretched into a real grin.

His eyes darted to her lips.

Oh, dear lord, she wasn’t prepared for this. Her head spun.

Words. She needed words.

“Thank you so much for having me,” she said, taking a step while turning to end up in the chair like she was supposed to. The start of the step was fine, but her knees had been replaced by imposters made of jelly and she more fell onto her arse than sat down gracefully.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Fitz said, then coughed. “You alright there?”

“New shoes, I love them, but they do remind me that gravity is the law, not just a nice suggestion.”

He chuckled. She’d made him chuckle.

“Can we get a shot?” Fitz asked. He came around the desk and knelt at her feet. Terrific, how was she supposed to breathe? His palm cupped her calf and slid down to her foot, raising her shoe for the camera. “I love the bow.”

“I do too,” she gushed, her voice high pitched. “It also fits my character.”

“ _Midnight Hollywood_ is taking the world by storm,” he said, sliding his fingers back up her leg, leaving trails of fire behind. He set her foot back down and very quickly returned to his seat. “I believe you play a vampire on the show?”

It made it sound like he didn’t watch in a way the words hadn’t when she’d read them on the page. That was a disappointment, but of course he wouldn’t be able to watch every movie and show his guests were on. That’d be all he’d do. The disappointment still brought her back to earth.

“Yes, I play a several hundred-year-old vampire, Camille, who has left her home in England to find the answer to a prophecy. It’s a fun role, and I adore the wardrobe. Everyone else on the show is very modern and I get to wear all these rich fabrics and terribly flattering cuts and I just love getting into costume.”

Fitz’s eyes flickered down again, this time to her chest before rising back up. She couldn’t ever remember him being distracted by a guest, unless it’d been edited out. That was probably it. He probably flirted shamelessly with all his guests and it just didn’t make the telly. Her stomach still did a little flip. “Episode ten, of season one, the green ball gown?” Fitz said. “I was blown away. Sitting in my living room I was seriously impressed with the _Midnight Hollywood_ costuming department.”

Jemma blinked. “You watch the show?” she blurted. It’d become vitally important that she know this. Fitz’s face pinked and he licked his lips. The tiny hint of his tongue did funny things to her insides. She crossed her legs and leaned towards him.

“Ah, yeah, every week. It’s good.” He looked out at the audience. “I’m not alone on this, am I?”

The crowd cheered and hollered.

Leopold Fitz watched her show. Jemma’s head swam.

He propped his head in his hand, his eyes back on her. “I heard you have a favorite show too.”

Jemma’s face heated. “I never miss _Later Tonight with Fitz_ , it’s actually in my contract that my filming breaks allow for that.”

The crowd murmured.

Fitz continued to smile at her. “I did get a little hint from the studio about what might be in season two, which you’re currently filming, is there anything you can tell us?”

She wanted to tell him everything. Anything. How had she lived this long without knowing that there were strands of lighter, almost red hair gilding his darker curls? But she had to shake her head. “All I can say is that the fans are going to love this season. If you liked the dream kiss between Camile and St. John at the end of season one, you better buckle up.” St. John was Ward’s character, who bridged the world between the mundane and paranormal. Everybody wanted to see them together. Unfortunately. It means she had so many more scenes with Ward this season.

The crowd clapped and hooted.

Fitz leaned back, a shadow flickering over his face. “So what’s it like, making out on set with one of the hottest men in Hollywood?”

Jemma did not sigh or roll her eyes. Or say she much rather climb into Fitz’s lap right now and give a demonstration. “Grant Ward makes it effortless—” She paused while the crowd whooped. “Not only because he’s easy on the eyes, but because he’s a very professional actor with high standards. We plan out what’s going to happen, talk about it, and do our best to make the scene exciting to watch. I’ve learned a lot from him.” Mostly about how not to be an arse, but nobody wanted to hear that.

The corners of Fitz’s mouth turned down ever so slightly. “We do have an exclusive clip for the audience, from the first episode of season two, which isn’t out for another couple of months. Can you tell us what’s happening here?”

Jemma gave a quick explanation about St. John had tracked Camille down when her name came up as part of a murder case. Jemma had enjoyed filming the scene because her character had very much been in her element and completely in control of the bar she’d been moonlighting as a bartender at.

Fitz hit a button on his mic while the clip played. He leaned forward, and Jemma put her hand over her microphone. For a heady moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her breath caught and her gaze fell to his mouth. His lips looked inviting. A shiver went through her. This interview would be so much easier if he’d turned out to be a jerk instead of insisting on being absolutely alluring.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and Fitz changed course slightly, and another thrill shot down her spine as his warm breath ghosted over her ear. “When’s your next day off?”

“Sunday.”

“Tell Bobbi to give Hunter your number.” The words dripped over her, warm and inviting.

She nodded, but then the clip was over and Fitz sat back. She had to stop herself from following him and straddling his lap. Jemma wondered what he’d do if she did. What would happen if they humped each other on-screen in the middle of a taping? Would they fire her? Or him? They could go live together in a tiny hut in the middle of the woods.

“So, Jemma,” Fitz said. He’d propped his chin in his hand again. “Since you watch this show, you know I occasionally try to sneak a little science in.”

She nodded eagerly.

“Well,” he continued. “Here’s a little secret not many of your fans might know. Jemma Simmons is actually Dr. Jemma Simmons, you have a doctorate in biochemistry.”

Jemma sat up straighter. “I do, Dr. Fitz.”

His smile became a little goofy. “Well, I read your dissertation.”

Her heart skipped a bit. “You did? Oh…um…I’ve read yours, too.” Was it possible that he just got cuter?

Fitz looked shocked. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Er, I had a question.”

“Of course.” This was so much better than talking about Ward, but it hadn’t been in the pages she’d been given. There’d been something about filming at night. Jemma didn’t mind going off-script.

“It’s about chapter twelve, but I’ll have to save it, or we’ll be here all night.” His voice dropped slightly, and Jemma found herself very, very ready to talk science with Fitz all night long. He coughed. “And I think there’s a few Taylor Swift fans here who’d like to hear her sing.”

The crowd cheered.

Oh, right.

“But I was hoping you could give a brief explanation of electromagnetism? It featured heavily in your research.”

“I can!” She had an easy answer, as she’d given more than one presentation at children’s science museums. Jemma focused on the camera and launched into her speech, hoping it wasn’t too basic for Fitz. It took her only a few sentences and well-practiced hand motions to get the basic concept across. Fitz’s eyes stayed on her fingers as she gestured.

“Thank you, Dr. Simmons,” he said, then bit his lip. Torture. The man was torturing her. “That was excellent. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” Drat, their time must be up.

“It’s been an honor.”

Fitz turned to the audience. “Everyone watch _Midnight Hollywood_. The first season is on Netflix now and season two will be here this fall.”

The call to cut for commercial came, and Fitz was mobbed by a stylist, who fussed over his hair, while Hunter appeared to direct Jemma backstage. He had his bowtie off and was worrying it in his hands.

“Nicely done,” he said, though he looked more confused than pleased. “What did Fitz say to you during the clip from your show?”

Jemma shrugged. It wasn’t her place to tattle on Fitz making arrangements for them. “I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

Hunter nodded absently. His head snapped up as Bobbi rounded the corner. “Here she is,” he said.

Bobbi clucked and grabbed the tie from his hands. She looped it around his neck and tied it neatly. Jemma hadn’t known that was a skill Bobbi possessed. Hunter’s jaw went a little slack. Bobbi took Jemma’s arm, nodded at Hunter, and led her further backstage. In a minute they were outside and in a car that’d been waiting on them. Jemma slid sunglasses on as she took the passenger seat. Bobbi slammed the gas down, but they’d taken a Prius from the set. The resulting engine rev wasn’t very impressive.

Bobbi didn’t say anything until they were on the highway. “What the hell was that?” she barked.

“What was what? I thought it went well.” It’d gone much better than anything Jemma had imagined. Fitz was amazing. She sighed, remembering how his eyes had gleamed up at her when he’d knelt at her feet.

Bobbi groaned. “Well enough, but you two mostly just eye-fucked the entire time, drooled, and I really thought he was going to kiss you. This is promotion, Jemma. Promotion.” She drew out the word.

“Ah.” Jemma quirked her lips. She didn’t feel even a hint of remorse. “Uh, by the way, please send Hunter my number to give to Fitz. We’re going out to dinner on Sunday.”

Bobbi groaned. “Why am I even surprised?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Posts on Saturdays! 
> 
> I'm @sunalsolove on tumblr if you want to scream at me there, and here's the amazing post that inspired this work: [ Later Tonight with Fitz ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com/post/627558579190235136/ughfitz-l-a-t-e-r-t-o-n-i-g-h-t-w-i-t-h)


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